


The Sunset

by redanick



Series: Angsty One-Shots Because I Have No Chill [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 22:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18433442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redanick/pseuds/redanick
Summary: The sunset came early.





	The Sunset

Yawning, I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I squinted against the sunset; my eyelids were so heavy that they could barely stay open. I was so tired, so dead tired. The air conditioner blew directly onto my fingers, chilling them to the bone despite the overbearing heat of the early sunset. The rest of me felt just as cold, and heavy like the rusted anchor of an Arctic shipwreck long forgotten.

A bug floated lazily across the road and exploded onto my windshield in an instant. I gripped the steering wheel tighter with numb fingers, but it was painful and exhausting, so I didn’t bother for long. With monumental effort and another yawn, I swatted at the turn signal lever as I merged onto the highway. My body was still heavy. Surely I hadn’t slept enough. My foot weighed heavily on the gas pedal as I accelerated to match highway traffic. I was so heavy, and cold, and so very very tired. My foot was heavy on the gas, and my eyelids were heavy on my face, so that my gaze was dragged down to the increasing speedometer. I looked back up at the sunset. It seemed warm and distant, like an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in years. My foot was heavier, and heavier…

I closed my eyes.

.

.

.

[image: iOS screenshot]

Dana: Hey, how was your day?   
Dana: I hope this isn’t too forward… I know you’ve been having a tough time lately, but I want you to know I’m here for you.

Dana: We should meet up this Sunday, and catch up! If you’re free, that is.

Dana: Hello?


End file.
